


naked ambition

by asfroste



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Texting, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asfroste/pseuds/asfroste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s one thing for Bitty to have a pathetic secret crush and maybe occasionally get off to vague thoughts of Jack-shaped people with blue eyes, and another, completely wrong thing, to actually jerk off to naked pictures of Jack Zimmermann. </p>
<p>[or, the one where Jack strips down for ESPN The Magazine's Body Issue and Bitty has some...issues with it. issues involving inconvenient boners.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	naked ambition

**Author's Note:**

> *sweats nervously* I haven't actually finished and published a fic since 2009. many thanks to my sister for begrudgingly looking this over (I will drag her kicking and screaming into this fandom if it is the last thing I do) and telling me how neurotic I am and just to publish the damn thing already. 
> 
> obviously Check, Please! is not mine and I am just incredibly grateful to the creator, ngozi, for its blessed existence. aka fictional hockey hell is a real place and I am good and stuck in it.
> 
> also, this is slightly au in that Bitty and Jack's graduation kiss did not happen, but everything else is the same. takes place in the fall of Bitty's junior year. 
> 
> um. enjoy?

Bitty is taking his Ethics of Eating midterm when ESPN The Magazine’s 2016 Body Issue hits the stands. Later, he’ll swear he felt it, like the entire campus suddenly cried out as one and were just as suddenly silenced. As he turns in his exam and walks out of the classroom, he is struck by the gentle quiet, the emptiness of the halls, and feels uneasy at the peace.

Later, he’ll realize it was so quiet because everyone was locked in their rooms, furiously masturbating to the six page spread of Jack Laurent Zimmermann, naked as the day he was born.

 

*

_  
Excerpt from_ ESPN The Magazine’s 2016 Body Issue:

**“Jack Zimmermann: A Study in Naked Ambition”**

_Providence Falconer’s new center Jack Zimmerman spoke with reporter Lori Patrick about what it was like to bare all for ESPN The Magazine’s Body Issue, his relationship with his team, and his goals for the upcoming season._

**It’s kinda like being in the locker room, but with more cameras**. A bit colder on the ice though, so don’t judge, eh?

**I expect a lot of chirping about this**. Mostly from my college team and friends, but I bet there’s a few family friends out there just waiting for the right moment to embarrass me. This kind of thing never happened when my dad played hockey, you know?

**It’s for a good cause**. A lot of the proceeds from sales will go towards funding co-ed youth hockey and figure skating programs in lower income areas. I know what a great influence playing hockey can have on a kid’s life, so I’d love to be able to pay it forward as much as I can. Everyone should be able to play or skate if they want. It isn’t fair to let financial concerns stop a kid’s dream in its tracks.

**It’s been about as hard as I expected**. Working as hard as I have, entering the NHL, you know, a bit late, it means there’s a lot more to do and so I’m giving it my all and hoping to do well for the Falcs and make everyone who’s looking out for me proud.

**“Got Your Back.”** Yeah, that was the hockey motto [at Samwell.] It meant we were always looking out for each other, both on and off the ice. I’m glad to have the same sort of feeling  with the Falcs and I hope the guys know I’ll have their back as the season continues.

**I want to keep the momentum going for as long as I can.** I can’t say I never get into ruts, because I do, like every player does, but I’ve found that it’s always my teammates that have helped me through them. Every day they inspire me and push me to play better. My college team taught me that. They remind me that hockey is a team sport, that without them I would just be some guy on the ice all by himself, and that would be terrible. I couldn’t do it without them. I want to get as far as we can get this year, see what we’re really capable of.

 

*

 

Bitty owes Lardo approximately 1000 pies and/or beers, because not only did she somehow manage to score him three pristine copies, she also hid them and his phone until his Americana Studies 311 paper (“The Cultural Impact of Southern Comfort Food”) was done.

It was the fastest paper Bitty ever wrote. (The professor gives him a B+ with the notation “you spent a bit too much time on the physical side effects of southern comfort food, particularly with regard to what amounts to conjecture about the * _smudged*_ posterior silhouettes of the people during that time period, but overall, not bad.”)

Bitty has no fucking idea how they managed to convince Jack to appear naked for the 2016 ESPN Body Issue, but he also owes them approximately 1000 pies and/or beers because _sweet baby Jesus_.

 

*

 

_Excerpt from Eric R. Bittle’s_ The Cultural Impact of Southern Comfort Food _paper for his Americana Studies 311 class, written and turned in approx. six hours after the release of_ Jack Zimmermann: A Study in Naked Ambition:

“…the effects of butter and lard on the posterior of the people’s silhouettes—particularly the menfolk, who were often otherwise inactive—of the southern states of America at this time was unfortunately negative, but thankfully Canada, being much farther north and more advanced in healthy cooking, managed to produce food that gave their native residents’ rear-ends less opportunity for sagging or drooping, which, combined with their naturally more active lifestyle, resulted in much more rounded, firm, and appealing backsides. There are many example of this interesting cultural difference between the United States of America and Canada, not only with regard to the backend of the average male, but also his…”

 

*

 

It’s not like Bitty hasn’t seen all of this—all of _Jack_ —before. They’ve shared locker rooms and communal showers and lived across the hall from each other for a year, but there’s a huge difference between catching the occasional thrilling glimpse of his teammate/roommate’s chiseled thighs and having them in high-res magazine pictures that ~~Bitty~~ anyone could hang up in their locker or keep under their pillow.

Plus, Bitty never really looked in the locker rooms, too focused on getting his own gross gear off, and _never_ in the showers because he doesn’t want his teammates to feel uncomfortable. Years in public school locker rooms taught him to keep his eyes to himself; even though there are any number of guys on the team who would be happy to strut their stuff for him (or for anyone, _looking at you, Shitty_ ), it isn’t in Bitty’s nature to be a _voyeur_.

However, Jack did (somehow) agree to this photoshoot, and took his own clothes off for it, so it’s really not like Bitty’s violating his privacy or anything. Jack knows Bitty will eventually see these photos. Jack probably expects Bitty to look at the photos and chirp him about it, make a joke about how huge his ass is or something.

Bitty takes a deep breath and opens the magazine to where Lardo had thoughtfully put a sticky note. Jack is posing in a hockey rink wearing nothing but skates and gloves, holding a hockey stick. Must have been cold, Bitty thinks only a little hysterically. There’s Jack’s face, maybe a little sheepish but still him. And there are Jack’s broad shoulders, yes, then Jack’s sparsely haired chest and his dark pink nipples and his ridiculous abs is he made of marble and oh god there’s Jack’s perfectly sculpted firm round completely bare—Bitty makes a noise he’s pretty sure he’s never made before and slaps the magazine shut.

Jack probably did not expect Bitty to take one look at his naked photoshoot and pop a boner hard enough to cut through a tree with.

_Fuck_ , Bitty thinks, with feeling, and hobbles off to take a teeth-grittingly cold shower.

 

*

 

_Samwell 2014-2015 Men’s Hockey Group Text, approx. twelve hours after_ “Jack Zimmermann: A Study in Naked Ambition” _hits the stands_.

**B.**   **“Shitty” Knight  
** Jack Zimmerman, you perfect Canadian specimen of man. MOTHERFUCKER never have I ever been more proud of your ass. and I do mean your actual glorious ass. WELL FUCKING DONE SIR

**Justin “Ransom” Oluransi  
** what in the fuck did they offer you that you agreed to do this. world peace? the fucking moon? the ability 2 play hockey 4ever w/o food or sleep? 

**Jack L. Zimmerman  
** it was for a good cause

**Adam “Holster” Birkholtz  
** WHat good cause??? filling up the spank bank of thirsty puck bunnies??

**Justin “Ransom” Oluransi  
** making every dude on the planet feel inferior?

**Will J. Poindexter  
** Your ass really is scarily large.

**Derek Nurse  
** it must have been so cold in that rink man. no judgment. dex def knows how you feel.

**Will J. Poindexter  
** Oh my GOD, Nursey, fuck off, I swear to fucking god.

**Chris Chow  
** the pictures are really great Jack!!! I mean not that I looked!! Well I did because they were just there and also my um girlfriend bought a copy which was um kinda weird UM NOT THAT YOU LOOK WEIRD I JUST MEANT IT’S WEIRD THAT SHE BOUGHT IT

**Adam “Holster” Birkholtz  
** sO Jack how did it feel to go PUCK NAKED on the ice? eH?? Eh???

**Justin “Ransom” Oluransi  
** dude

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan  
** Bro.

 

*

 

Bitty is laying on the couch with a pillow over his face, channeling Scarlett O’Hara, when Lardo comes home. She takes one look at him, winces, and wordlessly fetches him a beer.

“Thanks,” Bitty says, voice faint. A #Zimmerbutt hashtag has started trending on Twitter and he’s honestly afraid to look at it.  
  
Bitty and Lardo work their way through most of a 12 pack throughout the course of the evening, avoiding the internet and almost all mention of Jack Zimmermann in his altogether. 

That works until Bitty misses a call from his mom and gets a voicemail that says _Oh Dicky, did you see those photos of Jack? Good lord, isn’t he such a nice-looking young man? I wonder if his father ever did something similar—oh, look at me, two glasses of red wine and I come over all starry-eyed! Lord, what your father would say if he could hear me!_ and has to lay down on the floor with a cold cloth over his eyes until he stops hyperventilating.

 

*

 

Bitty wakes up the next morning and feels okay for a few minutes before the crushing weight of reality (and a hangover) crash into him. He stumbles into the bathroom, praying for death, but stops dead when he sees that someone—probably Ransom and Holster—has taped all six of Jack’s naked photos to the walls of his shower. There’s a sticky note on the mirror that just has a winky-face drawn on it.

Chowder, his precious child, falls out of bed and comes running across the hall right when he hears Bitty’s unholy shriek, and later swears on the blood of his ancestors not to tell anyone that Bitty is basically in the middle of a full-scale mental breakdown over Jack’s nude photoshoot— _not even Dex and Nursey because Nursey  can’t keep his damn mouth shut and Dex’ll end up telling Nursey and lord_ above _especially not Jack or Shitty!!!_

 

*

 

Bitty is in class, trying to pay attention to the last lecture before the test and avoiding eye contact with everyone, when his phone buzzes. He sees Jack’s name and feels a wave of foreboding.

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** did you see them

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** bittle

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** did you see the pictures 

Bitty shoves his phone as deep as it’ll go into his bag and rests his head gently on the desk, contemplating the merits of moving to some remote part of the world and living as a hermit, far away from the publicly circulating pictures of Jack Zimmermann in the nude.

 

*

 

_A collection of tweets from the hashtag #Zimmerbutt, trending on Twitter approx. twenty-four hours after_ Jack Zimmermann: A Study in Naked Ambition _hit the stands_. 

**deezbutts** @deezbutts  
somebody’s been doing his squats #Zimmerbutt #deezbutts #booties #butts #hockey #jackzimmermann

**holtzsom** @dline4life6x9o  
YO I swear #Zimmerbutt so smooth look like a zamboni just rolled over it #datass #hockeybutts #jacklzimmerman

**ahhrealbutts** @NHLmebaby  
okay but like…if only they had moved that hockey stick…let me see that #Zimmerdick #Zimmerbutt

**badonkers** @heavenlyhockey91  
@NHLmebaby YASSSS you know with a backend that fine the boy has to be packing #Zimmerbutt #Zimmerdick               

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
@dline4life6x9o Y’all aren’t subtle. Also, I’m coming for you. #BittysRevenge #Zimmerbutt #SmallbutMighty

**Kent Parson** @KentParsonOfficial  
mines better. espn hmu. #ESPN #BodyIssue #Zimmerbutt

 

*

 

Class is over by the time Bitty lets himself look at his phone. Jack hasn’t texted any more, but Twitter is now having conniptions over the latest speculations regarding the size of Jack’s dick. Bitty sighs mournfully and curses yet again the fact that he still has more than a few months to go before his 21st birthday, which means that heading for the nearest bar and drowning his sorrows in true poetic fashion is out of the question.

He responds to Jack:

_Yes Jack, I saw the pictures._ (And barely even jerked off. ~~Showers don’t count.~~ ) _Lord, the whole world has probably seen them by now!_ (And jerked off to them, a lot.)

**Jack L. Zimmerman  
** it was for a charity.

Bitty smiles a little. _I’m sure they’re very happy for all the publicity_.

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** yeah. I didn’t expect it to be this much excitement. 

Bitty rolls his eyes. _That’s because you don’t spend too much time on the internet_. 

Jack doesn’t respond right away, and Bitty walks the rest of the way towards the Haus feeling like he had managed to come across as sane and reasonable and not at all on the verge of collapse due to Jack L. Zimmermann (again). Right as he enters the kitchen and starts thinking of what to make for team dinner, his phone buzzes again.

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** am I a ‘meme’ now? :-) 

Christ al-fucking-mighty. Bitty breaks open the emergency peaches. This calls for cobbler.

 

*

 

Much later, after Dex and Nursey have stumbled home, stuffed full of peach cobbler, and everyone else has more or less settled quietly into their respective spaces, Bitty locks his door and crawls into bed and pulls out the magazine. 

_It’s not wrong if it isn’t hurting anyone_ , he tells himself firmly, and allows his eyes the privilege of following photo-Jack’s happy trail, imagines what it’d be like to lick his way up it, to sink his teeth into the meat of Jack’s ass, to have those thighs thrusting between his—Bitty takes himself in hand with relief, tired of having to pretend these pictures aren’t the hottest damn things he’s ever seen. He’s got a good rhythm going, just enough into the realm of fantasy that he can almost pretend Jack is any other attractive hockey player and not one of his closest straight friends, riding on the edge of a mostly-guiltless wave of pleasure, when his phone buzzes and he automatically glances over at it. 

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** but are they any good? I can’t tell

Bitty bites his lip. He shouldn’t respond. He’s busy. Jack would understand.

His dick twitches; he grips it tighter. 

He painstakingly types with one hand, _They’re great pictures Jack._

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** yeah? that’s good to know. I thought they might be terrible but I’m glad you like them. :-)

Bitty groans, his hand moving faster.

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** You should come soon

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** uh come visit I mean

**Jack L. Zimmermann  
** see this famous hockey butt in person haha

Bitty gasps out his orgasm, phone still gripped tightly in one hand. After he cleans himself up, he slumps into his pillows and stares at the ceiling.

Eventually he texts back, _That’d sure be nice_ :), and goes to sleep.

 

*

 

Bitty wakes up hard. He’d had a dream that Jack had skated up to him wearing nothing but gloves, just like in the photoshoot—rather, one glove, and, well. It wasn’t on his hand. He’d skated up close, boxing Bitty in against the boards, leaning in to whisper _You should come soon_ into his ear.

Bitty muffles a swear into his pillow and tries not to hump his mattress. As if last night wasn’t bad enough. At this rate he’ll probably never be able to look Jack in the eye again, because it’s one thing for Bitty to have a pathetic secret crush on him (and maybe occasionally get off to vague thoughts of Jack-shaped people with blue eyes) and another, completely wrong thing, to actually text Jack while jerking off to naked pictures of him.

It’s too much; Bitty is going to have to live in a hole in the ground from now on. Maybe the hateful lax bros next door will dig it for him and then helpfully fill in the dirt. Maybe Lardo will put a metal sculpture shaped like a pie there to mark his spot with the epitaph: “Here lies Eric R. Bittle, it was a shameful way to go. It’s all Jack Zimmermann’s ass’s fault.”

Bitty gives up and slides a hand into his boxers; he comes far too quickly, and it’s all Jack Zimmermann’s ass’s fault.

Suffice to say, the rest of the day does not go well.

 

*

 

_Text conversation between Justin “Ransom” Oluransi and Adam “Holster” Birkholtz, approx. thirty-six hours after_ “Jack Zimmermann: A Study In Naked Ambition” _hits the stands_.

**Ransypoo  
** Dude dont come downstairs.

**Holtzykins  
** why??

**Ransypoo  
** Bitty just burnt a pie 

**Holtzykins  
** wHaaaaat????!1!?

**Ransypoo  
** idk man. im in the living rm and i can hear him cursing and it smells like ass

**Ransypoo  
** actually it still smells p good burnt pie is still good but not like bittys usual pie

**Holtzykins  
** OMG who even likes burnt pie smell, you are so weird

**Ransypoo  
** im js 

**Holtzykins  
** WHATEVER the point is, what is wrong with bitty. bitty never burns pies.

**Ransypoo  
** remember when he made those cupcakes after jacks first game? came out perfect and he was so shitfaced he couldnt even spell his own name

**Holtzykins  
** okay so bitty has a problem. he obviously needs our help.

**Ransypoo  
** i think bittys problem is theres too many pictures of naked men around the haus

**Holtzykins  
** BUT NOT ENOUGH ACTUAL NAKED MEN AMIRITE BRO??

**Ransypoo  
** BRO ITS LIKE U READ MY MIND

**Holtzykins  
** BRO

**Holtzykins  
** I’m already making the event on facebook

 

*

 

To say that Bitty has a hard time taking his Enviro midterm is an understatement. He’s still mad about burning the pie from this morning (and he wants to blame the oven but he can’t, the oven is perfect) and he’s pretty sure Ransom and Holster were texting back and forth about him this morning, which can only mean a disaster is on the horizon. He zips through the multiple choice section without really thinking about what he’s choosing, then gets stuck on the essay and wants to cry. He suffers through six and a half paragraphs before calling it and manages to produce a smile (though it feels more like a grimace) as he hands it to the TA on the way out.

He checks his phone once he’s outside.

He has 12 missed calls from Lardo and there are numerous texts from Ransom and Holster that all say some variation of WHATEVER U DO DON’T TALK TO LARDO EVERYTHING IS FINE

Bitty sighs. He needs a pumpkin spice latte if he’s going to deal with whatever new fuckery has sprung up.

 

*

 

So, apparently, Ransom and Holster decided Bitty needs to get laid. Ransom and Holster decided that a HausParty was the best way to get Bitty laid. Ransom and Holster then invited everyone they knew (which, between the two of them, is most of Samwell) to said aforementioned HausParty. And, in particular, they invited as many single, possibly queer young men as they could. Is that right?

“That is an accurate summary of the facts,” Lardo says. Bitty is face down on her bed, wondering how his life got to this point. It’s not really a mystery though. (It’s all Jack Zimmermann’s ass’s fault.)

“So what do I do?” he asks, rolling over. Lardo looks at him, then shrugs. “Do you want to hook up with some rando? If so, just go for it, dude. Rans and Holtzy meant well, even though they’re dumbasses at going about it.”

Bitty considers the matter. It’s been a while, actually; the first half of his freshman year was mostly spent worrying about coming out to his teammates, and the second half pretending he wasn’t attracted to Jack. Sophomore year involved pretending his crush on Jack didn’t exist with several cute guys found via a combination of Grindr and the Samwell LGBTQ message boards. This year…this year Bitty has had a string of weekend flings, nothing to write home about (not that he ever would, lord). But the last one was, what, over three weeks ago? He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

“Are Rans and Holster right? Do I—should I?” he asks, aware he’s being vague but not really willing to do anything about it.  
  
“Well,” Lardo says thoughtfully. “We don’t want them to be, but it might—” she stops, looking at him carefully. Bitty glares at the ceiling. He and Lardo have a precariously contrived illusion wherein Lardo pretends she hasn’t noticed that Bitty is head over ass for Jack and Bitty delicately ignores the fact that Lardo is fucking gone on Shitty. It’s what makes their friendship so great. That, and the fact that they got really REALLY drunk one night and swore to never force the other into some sort of bullshit rom-com style confession situation.

“It might help,” Lardo says finally, squinting into the distance. Bitty nods distractedly. He’s already planning his outfit.

 

*

 

It doesn’t help. Every guy there is either too short or has brown eyes or isn’t Jack Zimmermann.

Bitty drinks and flirts and generally has a good time, but his heart isn’t in it. Ransom and Holster keep sending cute guys his way and sending him thumbs-up that they think are subtle (they are not) and Lardo makes sure he always has a drink in his hand and it’s a party, he’s having fun, it’s fine.

 

*

 

_Samwell 2014-2015 Men’s Hockey Group Text, approx. forty-eight hours after_ “Jack Zimmermann: A Study in Naked Ambition” _hits the stands_.

**Adam “Holster” Birkholtz**  
_Attachment: 1 Image  
_ GET IT BITTYYYYyy11!!!!!!!

**Justin “Ransom” Oluransi  
** ATTA BOYYYY

**Adam “Holster” Birkholtz  
** RANS ARE WE THE PARTY GODS OR WHAT!!!!

**Justin “Ransom” Oluransi  
** THERE IS NO1 WE CANT FIND A DATE 4

**B. "Shitty” Knight  
** SUPES HAPPY FOR YA BITS GET YOURSELF SOME DICK but holster and rans you guys are being super creeps right now stop taking fucking pics of ppl making out

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan  
** shits has a point. I have his phone right now but when he sees this…say goodbye to your pie privileges forever boys.

**Justin “Ransom” Oluransi  
** …shit

**Adam “Holster” Birkholtz  
** o FUCK!!!1

 

*

 

On the plus side, when Bitty wakes up, he doesn’t want to die immediately or anything, which says a lot for how far his tolerance has come since his frog year, but on the minus side, he wakes up because someone is crushing his kneecaps.

Bitty squints down his bed and sees a blur of red hair and pale skin. _Dex?_ His heart almost jolts out of his chest before the memory of last night comes flooding back—Dex and Nursey’s argument, letting Dex curl up in his room with a water bottle of tequila juice, rolling Dex aside to fall asleep—Bitty sighs with relief. It’s not like he really thought he’d accidentally slept with one of his frogs, but crazier things have happened at Haus Parties. Bitty had been enjoying a semi-sloppy make-out with a guy from his Enviro class before the ongoing drama between Dex and Nursey erupted and he and Chowder had to take care of it, leaving Bitty more sexually frustrated than ever. And speaking of frustrated…he reaches out and pokes Dex.  
  
Dex grunts. Bitty pokes him again, ruthless. “Hey, Dex, time to go rescue Nursey from Chowder’s room before—”

Chowder’s voice shrieks from across the hall: “NURSEY _OH MY GOD_ YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD KEEP YOUR PANTS ON ALL NIGHT THIS TIME!!!” Bitty sighs and Dex jerks awake, his eyes unfocused. He blinks a few times and then rolls his head to look at Bitty and frowns.

“Sorry,” he rasps. Bitty flops until he can get a hand on Dex’s forehead and pets it soothingly. Dex heaves a deep sigh and tolerates this for a full minute before he pushes himself up.

“Guess I’d better…” he gestures at the door. Bitty makes what he hopes is a face of solidarity at him. Dex goes to stand up and ends up sitting down again immediately, his foot slipping on—

Too late, Bitty lunges across the bed, but Dex is too quick and leans down and away, clutching one of Bitty’s ESPN magazines, unfortunately still opened to the page where Jack was looking over his shoulder coquettishly, hips and torso twisted just enough, hockey stick in his hands jutting suggestively out to the side.  
  
“I’ve gotta be honest with you, Bits,” Dex says drily. “This is making me feel a lot better about _my_ embarrassing crush on a teammate.”

“Oh shut up,” Bitty snaps, scrabbling over Dex’s unfairly broad shoulders to get the magazine back. He ends up half in Dex’s lap, shirt twisted up, Dex’s arm around his waist, both of them too hungover and uncoordinated to do anything but half-heartedly wrestle. 

Unfortunately, it is at that moment that Bitty’s door opens to reveal Chowder, vibrating with precious goalie rage, and Nursey, mostly-naked and ashen-faced. 

Bitty is officially done with today, and it’s barely even started. He flings himself back into bed and yanks the covers over his head, effectively dislodging Dex, and decides to never come out again.

 

*

 

Eventually Lardo lures him out with froyo and the promise that Ransom and Holster are still incapacitated with their own hangovers. Bitty is vindictively glad for their suffering, especially in light of the picture of him and his Enviro buddy last night that made it into the group chat. Ransom and Holster are officially on his shit list forever for that one. But first he has to focus on overcoming his obsession with Jack’s naked pictures and also on finishing this frozen yogurt.  
  
“It’s ruining my life,” he whines over a double scoop of raspberry chocolate.

“Mm,” says Lardo.

“Seriously, one person was not meant to handle this much sexual frustration.”

“Ha,” says Lardo.

“I can’t even bake anymore.”

“Ooh,” says Lardo, looking down at her phone.

“How am I ever going to be able to look him in the eye again?”

“Oh look, Shitty says Jack has tickets for his home game tonight and he wants us all there,” Lardo says, apropos of fucking nothing, and Bitty nearly spits his froyo across the table.

 

*

 

_Text conversation between B. “Shitty” Knight and Jack Zimmermann_ , _approx. fifty hours after_ Jack Zimmermann: A Study in Naked Ambition _hit the stands_.

**Jack-a-belle  
** so we have a home game tomorrow  
  
**Shitty**  
fascinating

**Jack-a-belle  
** I can get tickets for everyone

**Shitty  
** even more fascinating

**Jack-a-belle  
** maybe some people can come down if they aren’t busy

**Shitty  
** idk they all seemed pretty busy right now

**Shitty  
** and by they I mean bitty 

**Shitty  
** bitty’s getting BIZZZAYYYY

**Jack-a-belle  
** can you just talk to lardo and see who’s free

**Shitty  
** brah why can’t you talk to lardo

**Jack-a-belle**  
because then you wouldn’t get to ask her up to cambridge afterwards

**Shitty  
** …you win this round, zimmermann

**Jack-a-belle  
** thank you

**Shitty**  
you bitty

**Shitty  
** **betcha hahaha autocorrect! 

**Jack-a-belle**  
you’re not invited anymore

 

*

 

Of course Bitty has to go to the game. He can’t _not_ go—Jack got them all tickets, after all, it would be rude not to accept. And he wants to be there to support Jack, really. He’s been doing so well this season, and yes, they went to the home opener, but that was before Jack’s photoshoot and the resurgence of Bitty’s inconvenient feelings and even more inconvenient boners and this is such a mistake he should just stay home and bake cookies.

 

*  
 

Bitty ruins three batches of cookies before he gives up and decides to go back to bed.

 

*

 

Watching Jack’s game online from the comfort and safety of his bed is apparently not an option because Ransom and Holster are:

A) not scared of Bitty’s threats or the eternal loss of pie _he means it this time_

B) actually strong enough to bench press Bitty (not that this has happened during weight training fifteen times or anything) which means they can physically manhandle him into the middle seat in the back of Dex’s soccer mom minivan despite his threats (see option A).

Shitty showed up out of nowhere and swept Lardo off in his ancient station wagon to spend the day after the game visiting art galleries in Cambridge, which is great for Lardo but terrible for Bitty and his sanity.

Nursey calls shotgun and full-on sprints to get there first; Chowder and Bitty exchange a long-suffering glance. They had to draw up an actual contract detailing their non-interference agreement in the long-running Dex/Nursey drama; it has sub-clauses and may or may not be notarized. Regardless, Bitty meets Dex’s eyes in the rearview mirror and winces at the look in them. If it gets too bad he can always convince Nursey to switch with him; it wouldn’t be fair to ask Farmer and Chowder or Ransom and Holster to separate, after all.

 

*

 

_Eric R. Bittle’s twitter feed_ , _approx. seventy-four hours after_ Jack Zimmermann: A Study In Naked Ambition _hit the stands_.

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Livetweeting the ride to Jack’s game tonight...Dex is driving, Nursey shotgun, then we have Farmer+Chowder in the middle…and then there’s me

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Squeezed into the very back between Ransom and Holster, both of whom are easily twice my size. Is life fair, I ask, gasping for air?

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
10 minutes into this 55min car ride and already Dex has threatened to throw Nursey out the window and turn this car around twice.

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Nursey: watch out for the children crossing the street.  
Dex: I can see the fucking kids, Nursey, I’m not you.

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Chowder: uhh…sorry Dex but I have to use the bathroom?? sorry!!  
Ransom: chowder how is it you can hold it on a 4hr bus ride but not now?

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
I hope my mother never hears about this…[img: gas station brand cookies]

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Made Nursey switch with me because frankly I’m worried about Dex driving a car if his blood pressure gets any higher…

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Nursey (from the very back of the van): yo Dex you should have—  
Everyone else in the car: NO BACKSEAT DRIVING

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Only a few minutes away from the rink…

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Here’s hoping I can get through this evening without embarrassing myself!

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
NICE GOAL, JACK!!!

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
And he gets another one! Jack’s on FIRE tonight!

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Can he get the hat trick?! Come on, Jack!!!

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
CONGRATS TO @NHLFALCONERS ON THE WIN!!! CONGRATS TO JACK ZIMMERMANN ON HIS FIRST NHL HAT TRICK!!!

 

*

 

Bitty studiously does not look up from his phone as various important-looking people tromp past him on their way out of the Falconer’s locker room and the Providence rink. He’s still not sure how Jack managed to wrangle a private invitation to the official locker room for him and he’s less sure it was a good idea to visit all by himself, but everyone else had practically thrown themselves at the concession stand and left Bitty in the lurch with his gas station cookies and guilt complex.

He waits until the coast seems clear before steeling his nerve and pushing the door open.

“Jack?” he calls. The locker room is empty and smells exactly like the one at Samwell, which is to say, terrible, but somewhat reassuring in its familiarity. Bitty steps inside; he can hear water running and immediately regrets his decision to visit this locker room and, in fact, all the decisions in his life that have led to this moment.

“Bittle?” he hears, faint. “Be right out!” Damn, there goes his plan to run away and never return. Instead he sidles further into the locker room until he reaches the cubicle with the #1 jersey in it and sits, clutching his plastic bag. He can do this. He is Eric Richard Bittle; he has survived high school in small town Georgia, the annual Bittle Men’s Hunting and Fishing Trip, and Jack L. Zimmermann’s naked photoshoot with his dignity and sanity ~~mostly~~ ~~somewhat~~ at least partially intact. He can face down Jack Zimmermann in a towel.

The shower squeaks off. A few minutes later, Jack steps out, one towel wrapped low on his hips and a smaller one draped across his shoulders. Bitty inhales sharply and fixes his eyes on the far wall.

“Um…Bittle,” Jack says, stopping in front of his cubby. Where his clothes are.

“RIGHT,” Bitty says, his voice much higher pitched than normal, and slides to the next cubby over. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a drop of water hanging tremulously from the edge of Jack’s jaw as he bends towards his cubby. He swallows thickly and clutches the plastic bag tighter. It crinkles loudly, catching Jack’s attention.

“Did you bring me a present, Bittle?” He’s smiling, straightening up from his locker, towel still around his waist, and Bitty is so, so doomed.

“Uh,” Bitty says. Suddenly he’s sure this was an awful idea, but it’s too late. He thrusts the bag out towards Jack. “Well, they were either gonna be ‘sorry you lost’ cookies or ‘congrats on the win’ cookies, so really it was a win-win in that you get some cookies.” Bitty hates that his accent comes out stronger when he’s nervous.

Jack takes the cookies out of the bag and raises an eyebrow at him. It’s unfairly hot. Bitty can’t raise either of his eyebrows like Jack can. It’s almost as distracting as Jack’s ridiculously tight abs, which Bitty is determinedly _not looking at_. The wall across from Jack’s cubby is really interesting, that’s all. He’s definitely not thinking about the picture of Jack sitting in this cubby, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, the lower half of his body in shadow…

“...to bake them yourself, eh, Bittle?” is what he hears next, as he’s blinking his vision back into focus.

“Uh, what?” he says intelligently, and absolutely does not have to wipe away any drool from his lips.

“Even I can tell you didn’t actually make these,” Jack says, and his voice is gentle and teasing rather than vigorously chirpy, considering he’s still holding the gas station cookies that silently scream THESE COOKIES WERE MADE IN A FACTORY BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN I LOVE YOU ANY LESS, not that Bitty’s projecting, or anything.

Jack says, “I know it’s a busy time of year for juniors and everything.” He doesn’t sound disappointed, but Bitty is deeply ashamed regardless.

Bitty nods at the floor and manages to say, only slightly hysterically, “That’s an understatement.”

“It’s fine,” Jack says as he opens the package. They’re perfectly round and chunky and so _store-bought_ it’s physically painful.

“I burned all the ones I tried to make,” Bitty blurts out before he can help himself. “It’s just, I really didn’t have time and I kept burning them ‘cuz I just couldn’t focus and it’s just rude to show up empty-handed and you played so well today and you deserve—”

“Wait, what?” Jack interrupts. “ _You_ burned the cookies? Where is Bittle and what have you done with him?” Jack’s smiling his chirping-Bittle-smile when Bitty shoots him a nasty look, but he’s still shirtless, so Bitty doesn’t let his gaze linger. He glares at #12’s jersey across the room instead.

“Excuse _me,_ Mr. Zimmermann, for thinking that some cookies were better than no cookies,” Bitty says snippily, crossing his arms.

Jack chuckles and reaches up to stash the cookies at the top of his cubby. Bitty glares harder at jersey #12 for no particular reason.

“Why couldn’t you focus?” Jack asks, and Bitty absolutely does _not_ blush redder than a tomato at the question. “I mean, I’ve seen you bake under stress before.”

_I was thinking about you naked and it made my burn my cookies._ “I don’t know,” Bitty says. He can imagine the face Jack is making at him, but he’s still resolutely staring a hole in the opposite wall. He stands abruptly and paces to the center of the locker room, where the Falconer’s logo is displayed on the carpet.

“Must have been something pretty big to make you burn your cookies,” Jack says, and Bitty grits his teeth.

_Very big, according to twitter._ “I guess,” he says.

“Never thought we’d see the day, eh?” Jack says.

_That’s not the only thing I never thought I’d see_ , Bitty thinks, and hums in agreement. He hears rustling behind him and his heart nearly stops.

“Bittle, is everything okay? Just, you haven’t looked at me once since you’ve been here.”

_Oh, I’ve looked at you plenty._ “Everything’s fine, Jack,” he says, but he can’t bring himself to turn around. The guilt is eating at him, sure, but he also might spontaneously combust if faced with too much of Jack’s skin, right in front of him, where he could reach out and touch—

“Bitty,” Jack says _from right behind him_ and Bitty jumps about a foot in the air when Jack’s voice is joined by his hand on Bitty’s shoulder. He startles Jack, who takes a step back, one hand clutching at his towel _which is still the only thing he’s wearing_.

“Why are you still _naked_?” Bitty practically shrieks, his heart now beating madly in his chest. “What is _it_ with your new trend of never wearing _clothes_ , good lord, someone call a photographer in here, quick! Never mind that it’s just _indecent_ —“ he can feel himself getting hysterical and is powerless to stop it. “Y’all might as well go out and join a nudist colony, I’m sure they’d be _happy_ to have you! Then you can just run around all _naked_ all day long and all night long and everyone will be—so— _happy_!” He’s panting slightly, out of breath, glaring right at stupid, naked, beautiful Jack, who looks—sad?

“I—uh,” Jack says. “You really thought the photoshoot was…indecent?” He’s blushing even as he says it and now he’s the one who won’t look at Bitty. Bitty feels his heart sink even as shame stirs for enjoying the sight of that blush spreading all the way down Jack’s chest. Lord above, he really is an incurable, grade-A pervert.

He bites his lip. “Not…really?” He’s aware that it sounds like a lie. Jack spins around and walks back to his cubby, head bowed.

“It’s fine,” Jack mumbles into his locker. “It was dumb. I wouldn’t even have agreed to it but Georgia made a really good argument for the charity—”

“Jack, I’m sorry, ” Bitty tries but Jack steamrolls right over him, briskly rubbing his hair with the towel.

“—it’s not like it really matters, everyone will forget about it by the time the next one comes out—”

“Jack—”

“It’s just, I thought they were—I think I look okay,” Jack says more loudly than before, suddenly throwing down the towel in his hands and turning around to glare at Bitty. He’s still blushing but he looks less sad and more angry. It is devastatingly attractive on him.

“You do look—”

“I mean I’m not vain or anything but the magazine people said they practically sold out—”

“Of course they—”

“—and just because you have some weird Southern prudish streak—”

“What! I _do not_ —”

“—it doesn’t mean I’m—Shitty always says I have a right to be proud, you know? And maybe I do,” Jack says, gesturing vaguely at his body, and Bitty remembers, suddenly, the pictures he’d seen of Jack as a pre-teen: chubby, awkward, pimply. He takes an involuntary step forward, heart in his throat, at the thought of Jack at 14 years old, never thinking he’d be 25 and good-looking enough to grace the cover of a magazine.

“Oh, Jack,” Bitty says, and takes another step forward.

“—I work hard, okay, and I eat well, and—”

“Jack,” Bitty says again, mesmerized by the muscles jumping and bunching as Jack rants. He’s close enough to touch.

“—it’s not like you to—Bittle?” Jack’s voice is much quieter than before.

“Jack,” Bitty says, and his voice is quiet too. His fingers are just barely grazing the skin between Jack’s pectorals, hovering above his abs. “Jack, if you don’t put a shirt on right now, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“What?” Jack says dumbly, staring down at Bitty’s hands ghosting lightly over his flat stomach. He sucks in a sharp breath as they go lower and his waist somehow gets even tinier. Bitty breathes out slowly, his eyes fixed on the path his hands are wandering. He wants to dig his fingers in, wants to sink to his knees and run his tongue along every muscular curve and Jack’s skin looks impossibly tempting and it’s all open and laid bare right there in front of him—

Jack makes some sort of noise and Bitty’s eyes snap up to meet his. The air between them is charged, electric; Jack looks desperately confused but he’s breathing fast and this close, Bitty can see how dilated his pupils are. He licks his lips and Jack’s gaze immediately drops to his mouth, sending a thrill throughout Bitty’s entire body.

Bitty whispers, “The things I want to do to you are _criminal_ ,” and then the tension crests over and they’re kissing, suddenly, crashing into each other, Bitty’s fingers clutching at Jack’s middle, just as warm and firm as it looks, Jack’s hands cupping his face, kissing desperately, hot and slick.

Bitty’s gasping between kisses, throwing himself into each one, his mouth meeting Jack’s and a sense of urgency thrumming in his blood, his tongue, his dick. He presses his body forward, mouth still locked to Jack’s, his hands reaching around to pull Jack’s closer, _closer_ , and Jack’s stumbling back to sit in his cubby, one hand automatically grabbing at the separator and the other at the top of Bitty’s thigh, his big hand wrapping almost all the way around, keeping him balanced as he scrambles to straddle Jack’s lap and grind down, spreading his legs as wide as they’ll go in this space, frantic and messy and _hot_.

Jack breaks away with a shudder, panting hard, and Bitty takes the opportunity to run his tongue down Jack’s neck and along his collarbone, his hands coming up to push against Jack’s pecs and sweep his thumbs over Jack’s nipples, finally getting his fill of feeling up all the warm, naked skin that has been haunting Bitty’s dreams since that goddamn magazine came out. He sucks kisses down Jack’s chest, drags his hands slowly up and down Jack’s sides and follows with his mouth, slides his fingers over Jack’s abs again and again, his tongue dipping lower and his hands rubbing harder each time,  until Jack is shaking underneath him and gasping “Bitty—Bitty—please” with every other breath, his head thrown back and his back pressed against the wall and then Bitty slides out of the cubby and onto his knees.

Jack stares at him, absolutely wrecked, pupils blown wide, mouth swollen, his towel tenting up from his lap, and Bitty feels like he’s on _fire_ with how much he wants him. He yanks the towel away and his mouth fucking _waters_ at the sight of Jack’s dick, flushed and red and straining. He wants to gag himself on this cock, wants to spend hours licking it, wants to make Jack fall apart. He slides his mouth up and down the sides, runs his tongue along the vein, suckles hard at the head and when he glances up Jack is fucking whimpering above him, one hand pressed over his mouth, his eyes locked on Bitty, pink and sweating and so beautiful Bitty could just fucking cry.

He loses his mind a little and goes down on Jack’s dick over and over again, swallowing around it and feeling it press into the back of his throat and choking a little and he loves it, he loves it so much. Jack’s thighs are trembling under his hands, hard and hairy and tight, and he’s breathing like he can’t get enough air. His hand finds Bitty’s and he intertwines their fingers, pushes their palms together, and before he comes he squeezes Bitty’s hand so tight Bitty can feel the bones creaking. Jack swears in French, low and desperate, and Bitty swallows and swallows until Jack’s dick twitches against his tongue and he pulls off with a gasp. 

“Jack,” Bitty says, his voice so hoarse he can barely talk, and he’s so hard that just crawling up and yanking his zipper and boxers down with fumbling hands is almost impossible. He jerks off furiously, curved over Jack, one hand on the wall next to Jack’s head, staring at Jack watching him through lowered lashes, slumped back against the wall, chest heaving, limp and fucked out. “Jack, I love seeing you like this, I love taking you apart, I love your cock and your body and Jack oh my god Jack _Jack_ —” Bitty moans breathlessly, coming apart, coming all over Jack’s picture-perfect abs, real and moving beneath him, and he shakes with the aftershocks. Jack murmurs incoherently and rubs feebly at Bitty’s thighs until he settles down next to him, panting, awkwardly squeezed into this too-small space, his legs—still in jeans—flung over Jack’s naked lap. He rests his head on Jack’s shoulder and throws an arm across Jack’s waist and waits for his breathing to even out. 

Jack shifts until he can wrap his arms around Bitty and lock his hands together over Bitty’s hip. He presses an absentminded kiss to Bitty’s head and they just breathe together, quiet and sweaty and disheveled and happy.

 

*

 

They’re already at the car when it becomes clear that they’re short one Southern baker. There is a pregnant pause wherein nobody wants to say out loud where they all suspect Bitty is. 

“Nose goes!” Shitty shouts, already touching his nose, and immediately seven hands and one elbow fly up. Nursey loses. 

“I call foul! Dex totally elbowed me on purpose!” 

“You’re damn right I did.”  
  
“Guys, why don’t we just…text him?”

 

*

 

Bitty’s phone buzzes. He groans and lifts his head from Jack’s very comfortable shoulder. “That’s probably everyone else, wondering where the hell I am.” 

Jack chuckles. “It’s a good thing they didn’t just burst in.” 

“They’re probably waiting outside in the car.” 

Jack coughs a little. “About that. So, I was thinking.” 

“Were you? Hmm, I’ll have to try harder next time,” Bitty says, and laughs at the look on Jack’s face. 

“ _Anyway_. I was going to say, I have a lot of space in my apartment and no other plans for the weekend.” 

“Why, Mr. Zimmermann, just what are you suggesting?” Bitty bats his eyelashes for maximum effect, and Jack rolls his eyes at him.

“I think we’re a little past that innocent act, Bittle. Also, I need to shower again.” 

“Is that an invitation?” Bitty quips as they awkwardly unfold themselves from the cubby, and Jack rolls his eyes. He stretches, naked and a little self-conscious, if the renewed blush is any guess, and Bitty’s breath catches. 

“Jack,” he says before he can stop himself. “I need you to know—this isn’t just about, um, your body, for me. I mean, you’re gorgeous, there’s no question, but—that’s not all I—I mean, I really do…you know…” he gestures weakly, wishing the ground would open up and save him from this conversation. 

Jack glances back at him, his cheeks flushed, then ducks his head. “Me too,” he mumbles. “I was—I’ve been trying to, you know,” he says, and makes the same vague gesture back at Bitty. “I figured the pictures might,” he pauses, face screwed up a little in embarrassment. “Well, they couldn’t hurt.” 

Bitty stares at him. “Jack.  Are you serious right now?” 

Jack shrugs, the back of his neck a bright pink. “It worked out, didn’t it?” 

Bitty claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the giggles. Jack sighs deeply and bends down to scoop up his towel. Bitty chokes mid-giggle and ends up coughing. Jack shoots him a smirky look and straightens much more slowly than he needs to before throwing the towel over his shoulder and walking towards the showers, a little strut in his step. 

Bitty bites his lip on a smile, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of everything to come. 

He stands and trails after Jack into the shower. “You know,” Bitty says thoughtfully, because Jack should have known better than to think he would let this go. “I’m just saying, if you wanted to get my attention, there were subtler ways of going about it. For instance, nowadays most people just use Snapchat to send nudes.” 

Jack throws a towel at him.

 

*

 

_Text conversation between Larissa “Lardo” Duan and Eric R. Bittle_ , _approx. seventy-eight hours after_ Jack Zimmermann: A Study In Naked Ambition _hit the stands_.

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan  
** bits you good?

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan  
** biiiiiitttttyyyyyyyy

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan  
** if you don’t respond I’m sending Chowder in to get you

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan  
** do you want to be responsible for his therapy?

**Biiiiiiiittttttttyyyyyy  
** OH my god, do not send Chowder in here!!!

**Biiiiiiiittttttttyyyyyy  
** I’m fine, I’m um. I’m going to stay at Jack’s. For the weekend. [blush emoji]

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan  
** NICE!!!

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan  
** I’m staying at shitty’s this weekend :)

**Biiiiiiiittttttttyyyyyy  
** YAY!!! Get it, girl! ;)

**Larissa “Lardo” Duan**  
back at ya ;)

 

*

  _finis_

 

**Author's Note:**

> just some thoughts on what I love/wanted to do with this fic (please feel free to comment on whether or not I succeeded!):
> 
> \- a sexually enlightened Bitty who quietly pines but plays the field anyway (a man after my own heart)
> 
> \- oodles of Jack hot body worship because I thirst for this boy having a complicated woobie awareness of his own attractiveness after an extremely awkward adolescence that still haunts him ASDKFL;LKSDJ i could go on & on & ON
> 
> \- an ensemble of mostly-mature adults who Do Not Interfere in each other's love lives because for me True Friendship is making fun of your friends when they're obviously being idiots over the people they are not-so-secretly in love with while at the same time understanding that people have to reach their own understanding with each other in their own time. basically also I wanted to avoid any overly cliche matchmaking situations. (disclaimer: there is nothing wrong with those!)
> 
> \- Ransom and Holster are the obvious exception here, because they have canonically set Bitty up before, and they just wanna look out for their bro. also because they like to chirp Bitty.
> 
> \- I'm pretty sure I made up all of Bitty's college courses and midterm schedule but they seemed plausible, so *shrugs*
> 
> \- same goes for all the twitter names and also whatever contact names people have in their phones; if it is confusing, I am happy to clarify (I may or may not have many headcanons about this sort of thing)
> 
> \- I may or may not write a Dex/Nursey sequel; it took me three weeks and a trip to Bermuda to get this monster written, so we'll see.
> 
> \- I see this whole thing taking place in like mid-October, imaginary midterm season, from a Wednesday to a Saturday. Again, I'm happy to clarify if it doesn't make sense. (I may or may not have had to write a timeline out by hand and do a lot of math to make it make sense but idk how successful I was.)
> 
> I have a twitter ( https://twitter.com/hashtagfanfic ) that I made purely for following the Check, Please! twitter and have used approx. ten times since I got it. feel free to follow/chatter at me. fair warning, I am an awkward human being with very few fandom friends but I welcome the interactions. also feel free to comment with questions/comments/concerns and point out any mistakes/OOC-ness, etc, I welcome it. 
> 
> also, I do not watch any actual NHL hockey, but tumblr led me to a gifset of Tyler Seguin which led me to google which led me to his ESPN photoshoot and hnnnnggg the rest is history.
> 
> thank you for reading and have a nice day. :)


End file.
